


Battle Scars

by oloreaa



Series: Orbit [2]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Cuddle Arrangement, Gen, Mutual Pining, Some angst, descriptions of injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:48:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26024464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oloreaa/pseuds/oloreaa
Summary: Mandalorian? Injured. Hurt/Comfort with a lot of fluff? This got you covered. Cuddling again? You betcha. Set before Din finds the Child.Cross posted to Tumblr
Relationships: Din Djarin/Reader, Din Djarin/You, The Mandalorian/Reader, The Mandalorian/You
Series: Orbit [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1888975
Comments: 1
Kudos: 57





	Battle Scars

You were immediately on high alert when you heard the Mandalorian near the ship, the wiring you were trying to fix completely forgotten.  
He appeared on the ramp of the Razor Crest, dragging a quarry behind him. The quarry was a Kiffar with electric blue markings, who had a recently broken nose, blood on his lips.  
Carefully, you stood up, and positioned yourself further away so that you're not in the line of vision of the quarry.  
It goes without saying that the Mandalorian didn't want people to know that he picked up someone, making yourself a target. It wasn't as if you were defenseless, but still it was easier to deal with some discretion here and there than with rumours and assumptions from the Guild. You didn't particularly mind as well, just silently acting upon the cues the Mandalorian gave you.  
The snap and hiss of the carbonite freezer let you know that you could appear again. "He was a quiet quarry," you remarked as you came into view of the Mandalorian.  
Immediately, you saw something was wrong. He was standing with slumped shoulders, swaying slightly, holding his side and putting the weight on one leg only. You couldn't see blood but that didn't mean anything.  
"Sitrep," you demanded, voice sharper than you intended.  
He gave a low wheeze as if he was struggling to breathe. You couldn't help the worry for him that was starting to build in your chest, and the longer he took to respond, the more fear was taking over your brain.  
"Modified gauntlet," the Mandalorian finally rasped, breathing in deeply, "stabs as it punches."  
You were at his side in seconds, ignoring the flinch he gave when you got too close too fast.  
"Where?"  
He grunted and patted his side, helmet hanging low. You ran your fingers along the edge of the cuisse, and felt sticky warmth hanging on the fabric underneath.  
"Get this off," you told him, "I'll get the bacta." Turning around, and going to the little storage room for the med kit, you could faintly hear him taking off the necessary parts, clanging on the durasteel floor with more sound than you're used to.  
It must have got him pretty bad if he couldn't show the control you knew that he had.  
Gathering the med kit, you briskly went back, the dim orange light reflecting on the beskar helmet, the man underneath having removed enough for you to get to the wound.  
It was a ugly, jagged stab, blood oozing out slowly as you stared in horror.  
"Maker, Mando-" you whispered, but he just gave a grunt that seemingly reverberated through his whole body.  
Switching on the light for a clearer view, you got to work quickly, cleaning, stitching him up as efficiently as possible, and putting bacta on it afterwards. Even if you're trying to be careful and not apply too much pressure on the wound he still gasped occasionally, so softly that you would have never caught it if you weren't so close to his body.  
It was not the first time you patched him up.  
It would most likely not be the last time either.  
You finished in silence, only his heavy breathing between you, his entire body tense, fingers curled into fists.  
"Any other?", you asked, dreading the answer.  
"Nothing I can't take of myself," he told you, voice surprisingly steady, "Thank you."  
"You're welcome. Mando, please be more careful."  
You're too much occupied with studying the beskar helmet to feel embarrassed by the pleading note in your request. The blank slate only offers one expression, but somehow, you thought, you could see how he was looking at you.  
Thinking back on how he let you trace his features late at night, you could almost picture him. Almost.  
Being under his scrutiny was both terrifying and exhilarating, and with how close you both were, you couldn't help the flush coming to your face, warming your ears as well.  
"If you need anything else," you offered, sounding more shy than you had hoped, "just tell me."  
He just nodded, and then started to push himself up, the patch of skin around the wound tensing and rippling, an angry red from the inflammation. You helped him getting in an upright position, and checked the wound again.  
"Easy," you told him, knowing that he wouldn't listen, that he would simply cauterize it if the wound started to bleed again.  
You hated that thing with a passion, but it had come in handy more often than not, so everytime you considered just simply throwing it away, you knew that it would be foolish. For one, he would get another one. Also, he might just rip you a new one.  
He sighed deeply, and then started to stand up. Staggering towards the fresher, his steps were loud and forceful as if he was trying to convince the world and himself that he was strong enough to withstand everything.  
You watched him go, and hauled yourself up into the cockpit as soon as the door to the fresher closed with a 'click'. The Razor Crest was travelling at light speed, towards some nameless system the Mandalorian hadn't told you about yet. The next quarry awaits, the next job would be finished.  
There were already three slabs of carbonite in the belly of the Crest. The next one would be the last one before you head back to Nevarro.  
The blue streaks were mesmerising to watch no matter how often you had seen it already. Checking over the stats that were displayed on a screen, and with everything in order, you took out your holopad that had some music saved and played it.  
The song that came out was tinny and low quality, but listening to it helped pass the time some more. You could hear how the shower was on, and flushed slightly at the thoughts that entered your mind.  
Get yourself together, you scolded yourself, control your damn crush.  
Relaxing into the pilot's seat, you just listened to the music and stared into the warp of the hyper drive, the space around you folding and moving faster than the ship itself does. You started to get sleepy, and felt your eyes starting to droop. You have no idea how many hours you have been awake now, but the sleep you got last night was not restful at all. How many times had you tried to suppress yawns today? Too many.  
Telling yourself that it was all right to just doze off a bit, you closed your eyes and just rested with eyes closed, breathing in the cool recycled air of the ship.  
You weren't sleeping, at least not yet, but the rest was... much needed.  
After a while, the shower turned off, and you could hear the Mandalorian stepping out shortly after. Following him in your mind, cataloguing the sounds you heard and cross-referencing it with your knowledge of the ship, he was checking up on his weapons and taking care of his armour. He knew that you were up in the cockpit and wouldn't come down for some time yet.  
Meaning that he probably was unmasked right now.  
He came up when you were almost asleep, making you jerk up, blinking at the man. He only had dark trousers and a brown long-sleeved shirt on, the shirt so washed out and worn that it was a bit loose, showing his collarbones.  
You knew that you could only see this, see him because of how long you have been his crewmember. He trusts you to continue your arrangement with him in a way that doesn't let him disrespect his creed.  
To have a Mandalorian's trust is a heavy thing.  
And for you, especially this Mandalorian.  
From what little of skin you could actually see, his body was littered in scars. Some of them were blaster shots, puckered and light, like a constellation of the night sky. Some from knives, small ones, big ones, dozens of small nicks that left their mark on his body.  
The newest one on his side was probably relatively tame in comparison to those that have already scarred over, those he had survived before you met him.  
"Hey," he greeted you with crossed arms, leaning against the door of the cockpit in a manner that was almost lazy. Nonetheless, you could see that he was slightly curling protectively around the newest wound that was almost imperceptible.  
"Hey yourself," you replied, leaning back against the pilot's seat, mimicking his stance playfully.  
Noticing his fingers tightened slightly around his biceps, and the shuffle of his stance, you hid your smile, already guessing what he wanted to ask.  
And he did. "Do you wanna-?"  
There was only one possible conclusion to come to when he willingly showed up without his armour, even if he didn't take off his helmet. He told you once that as long as the helmet stays on, his creed is not broken. Since you were willing to take anything he would give you, starved for his affection, you did not even mind that this was the only way you could have him. Even incompletely.  
But having him in your arms, or his around you? There wasn't one single place in the galaxy you would rather be. That feeling? It's worth all the pain and heartache that comes with falling for a Mandalorian.  
You did not hesitate in telling him yes.  
He nodded, looking a bit awkward and you had to suppress a smile.  
Getting up, and following him into the small captain's quarters, the light inside was still on. He didn't turn these off, but lowered himself on the cot carefully.  
"Blindfolds?" you ask, confused.  
He hummed low. "Not yet."  
With your heart fluttering in your chest, you lowered yourself on the cot as well, careful to avoid his wound. Both of you shuffled a bit until you were both comfortable, settled into each other, the motions familiar through many times of practice.  
"How was your day?", he asked after a few minutes of you both just breathing with each other, sharing body warmth.  
"Hm," you replied, sleepy again, "it was fine. Quiet."  
He hummed in reply.  
You continued, eyes slipping closed, "We need to stock up on food soon. Fuel should cover us for a few jumps yet, I'm keeping an eye on it."  
"That's good."  
You both fell into comfortable silence again, you so close to him that you could hear his breaths from the source instead of through his modulator.  
You traced a finger across the skin that he bared to the world, eyes still closed, drifting dangerously into sleep territory again.  
One scar you were scrutinizing with your fingertips spanned across his collarbone, curling down to his shoulder. You followed it carefully, hesitantly, blinking your eyes open to look at it.  
It must have been some kind of knife or a small dagger. The Mandalorian didn't tense under your fingers as you expected him to, either too tired to care or trusting you with your touch.  
Maybe it was both.  
"I wish I could heal these," you told him quietly, so softly you almost didn't know if you had actually spoken them out loud. I wish I could take the pain you felt away.  
"They don't hurt," he said, sounding far off.  
"Not anymore? Hm?" you asked into his skin, pressing the slightest kiss on the scar, light as a butterfly's wings.  
He didn't respond to that. You didn't expect him to. He didn't needed to bare his soul to you, or put on some kind of show to tell you that it's all right.  
Snuggling into him, you took him in, admiring the contrast between the dark shirt he wore and his tan skin. Looking at him, you saw his helmet tilted towards you, and you could almost imagine the features you had traced with your fingertips on him.  
Soft scruff. Shaggy hair.  
You would probably let him do anything he wanted, tell you anything, show you anything. You weren't picky. You didn't owe each other a thing, but at the same time? You would give each other everything. At least you would, for him. This was an unspoken agreement, similar to the one that had you wrapped up in each other almost every night.  
Simply just two lonely souls enjoying each others company.  
Brown hair. Brown eyes. You reminded yourself of that fact, that he had trusted you so much.  
The scars on his body showed the battles he had been in, what he had survived and endured. You could only guess at the scars in his heart when your limbs are tangled together, breaths are shared, and fleeting thoughts are spoken out loud. Those moments were the only ones in which the Mandalorian shed both physical and figurative beskar.  
"Stop thinking so loud," the Mandalorian told you, voice slightly slurred from sleep. He grasped at your hand and laced your fingers together. You squeezed his hand back.  
"Sorry," you whispered back, and smiled at the huff he gave in response. "Didn't mean to."  
He simply pulled you closer and hummed deeply.


End file.
